


Falling

by starblessed



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Accidents, Concussions, F/M, Hurt Anne, Major Character Injury, Whump, because trapezes are dangerous ok, protective phillip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 11:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13787223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: Phillip sees Anne fall out of the sky.There is a roar in the back of his head, an underground audience screaming from far away. Anne’s form is backlit by the spotlights. She tumbles head over heels, leg kicking, arms grasping for a miracle where there is none. She is a star plummeting from the sky, a dying comet, a lost dream.She’s falling. Dear god, she’sfalling.





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> this fandom has so much great h/c but i haven't seen any for anne yet, and that needed to change

Anne falls out of the sky.

Phillip has seen it before, of course: he has watched Anne fall a million times, in the nightmares that haunt the darkest corners of his sleep. Yet not even his most ruthless imagination could have captured the terror of it actually happening. Witnessing Anne drop is like watching the world slip out of the atmosphere; like seeing the sky suddenly go dark; like feeling his heart stop beating in his chest. The shock is paralyzing, the terror overwhelming. Anne falls, and Phillip falls with her.

There is a roar in the back of his head, an underground audience screaming from far away. Anne’s form is backlit by the spotlights. She tumbles head over heels, leg kicking, arms grasping for a miracle where there is none. She is a star plummeting from the sky, a dying comet, a lost dream.

She’s falling. Dear god, she’s falling.

He takes one step forward, limbs moving too slow. He will never make it in time. He knows it a second before Anne hits the ground.

There is a deafening thump, and then silence.

Rushing to her side seems to take an eternity. In reality it takes him two seconds, maybe three at most; but those seconds are the longest of Phillip’s life. He feels every pound of his heart inside his chest as if for the first time; every scream, every yell, every panicking friend seems miles away. He drops to his knees, and it takes a year for him to hit the floor.

As soon as she’s in his arms, the world remembers how to turn again.

“—nne? Anne! Jesus Christ, Anne, say something!”

“Is she okay?”

“I saw her head snap, like — like that!”

“Oh god, oh god, Anne!”

Who is screaming? Phillip is unable to tell.  
everything fades into focus all at once. The only thing he can really hear is the panicked drumbeat of his head inside of his own chest, and the agony of Anne’s silence. The screams of the frightened audience and the panic of his fellow performers is just background noise.

Someone is crying. Another person is shouting for any doctor in the audience to come help. In Phillip’s arms, Anne is agonizingly still. Her eyes are closed; her face is slack. Had Phillip not seen her head smack against the ground, he would be convinced she is only dreaming.

“Anne,” he whispers, cupping the side of her face. He is terrified to move her head; the way it bounced as she landed, the way the life seemed to snap off inside of her like a candle snuffed out…

He isn’t alone. W.D. hits the ground in a crouch, and immediately tears over to his sister’s side. His panicked hands are less careful than Phillip, more desperate. He prods at her shoulders, her torso, her neck, searching for wounds that aren’t there.

“What happened?” he gasps, voice ya measures too high. “I wasn’t — wasn’t even looking — did she miss — what happened?”

“She hit her head,” Phillip hears himself say, unable to really process it. He sees Anne’s skull bounce off the ground all over again, and a sudden wave of sickness overcomes him. That flash of panic in Anne’s eyes, in the moment she realized she was falling, plays in his head all over again. He wants to vomit; he wants to scream. 

He clutches Anne closer and prays that he’ll feel her stir in his arms, but she remains still. Still as a broken doll, still as death, still as if she were never alive at all. W.D. cradles her head in her hands, talking at her, to no response. The feeling of her chest rising and falling against Phillip is a lonely comfort. 

“I can’t lose her,” he hears W.D. whisper. “I can’t lose her too.”

Suddenly, someone pushes them both aside. An old man with a white beard and stethoscope crouches over Anne, urging Phillip to lay her on the ground. Phillip is reluctant to comply, but a hand on his shoulder pulls him back. When he turns, furious, he finds Lettie staring down at him with tear-filled eyes.

“Let the man do his job,” she urges. “He needs to take a look at her, to make sure…” Her voice cuts off, breaking. She swallows hard. “That she’ll be alright.”

Phillip hates himself for it, but all he can do is nod dumbly and step back to let the doctor work. He watches the man pull off Anne’s wig, sees her flowing curls spill out from under her cap; his lungs are frozen as the doctor examines Anne’s skull, her neck, her pupils. Every one of the old doctor’s movements seems relaxed, inappropriately languorous. Phillip’s entire body is thrumming with adrenaline. He can barely hold himself back, convinced he can do a better assessment himself in half the time. One glance at W.D., being held back by O’Clancy and Constantine, makes it clear he feels the same way.

Finally, the doctor nods to himself. He pockets his stethoscope and pulls himself to his feet. In a thick German accent,he announces: “She will live. A blow to the head, nothing worse.”

All at once, the panic that had gripped Phillip like a vice melts away. He is able to draw breath again. He can’t help but let out a sob of relief.

“Keep her in bed for a few days, do not allow her to strain herself. When she awakes, make sure she knows who and where she is; keep asking her, at least until tomorrow. Do not let her sleep for too long.”

The performers devolve into buzzing chatter, their terror giving way to relief. W.D. graps the doctor’s hand and shakes it hard; as Phillip is doing the same, he kneels down and gently lifts Anne from the circus floor. The old doctor squeezes Phillip’s hand extra hard, and Phillip wonders if he recognizes the desperation in his eyes.

“Carlyle, we gotta get this audience outta here,” Lettie cuts in, pulling Phillip away from his gratitude. He turns his attention to the half-panicked audience, and realizes Lettie is right. This is already going to make the papers in the morning; he has to make sure the night doesn’t devolve into a total catastrophe. There’s no point in the show going on, considering Anne fell during the finale, so the only thing to do is to send the audience on their way.

And for that, they need the ringmaster. 

He casts an agonized glance at Anne, still cradled in W.D.’s arms. The last thing he wants to do is leave her; but he can’t abandon the audience, otherwise chaos could erupt. Besides, if Anne finds out he left the show for her, she’ll probably kill him herself when she wakes up.

He catches W.D.’s eyes; the elder Wheeler gives him a quick nod. It’s the only comfort Phillip is allowed right now. He has to trust that W.D. will get his sister to safety.

Anne’s limo form in his arms, W.D. rushes out of the ring. Phillip watches them go until they’ve vanished into the dark sanctuary backstage. He takes only a second to steel himself, then turns back to the audience.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces, “please remain calm. Everyone is fine! Everything is alright!”

 

It takes half an hour to see the entire audience off; Phillip is vibrating the entire time. He hopes his energy can be mistaken for enthusiasm, but really it’s adrenaline, pure and simple. Every passing moment seems to take an eternity; every reassuring smile, every call of “have a wonderful night!” seems so callous in the face of what nearly happened. He nearly lost his world, and… he's waving. He’s smiling. Somehow, the earth still turns. The woman he loves is lying backstage, seriously hurt, and… everything is normal.

It’s sickening. Phillip’s entire mind rebels against it, but he forces his body into submission. Years of smiling through his parents’ excruciating galas have trained him well. He’s able to force his charm, and send each audience member off with a smile on their face.

As soon as the last stranger files out of the tent, he can’t hold himself any longer. He takes off.

Anne isn’t in W.D.’s tent. She’s not in the trailer that Phillip uses as an office and spare bedroom. For a moment he’s convinced that she’s not anywhere.

Then Lettie hails him from the entrance to her trailer. Her brightly-colored dress makes her glow in the washed out evening; even in his panic, Phillip couldn’t miss her.

“In here,” she says, ushering Phillip with her. “My bed’s bigger, and softer. We thought it’d be best.”

He nearly trips over his own feet making his way up the trailer steps. “How is she?”

“She’s awake, talking. But she’s been better.”

When Lettie’s lips press into a worried line, Phillip’s heart leaps into his throat. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Lettie catches his panic quickly, and hastens to reassure him. “She’s alright, honey, just groggy. The knock on the head left her a little worse for wear, but she’ll be okay. Just don’t talk too loud, and don’t ask too many questions.”

The trailer is empty, save for the figure hunched at the side of Lettie’s bed. When he catches sight of them, W.D. straightens up. Concern still echoes on his face, but he no longer wears that look of utter terror; the panic from earlier, a side of the other man that Phillip had never seen before, is gone. W.D. is calm once more, and reassured.

“Well, finally,” he remarks. “With all the times Annie asked about you, I was starting to worry she got the two of us confused.”

“Lord forbid,” comes a voice from the bed. Phillip’s heart soars.

“Anne,” he says, and steps forward. W.D. deftly moves aside, to reveal the injured women lying in bed behind him. Anne’s got Lettie’s warm blankets pulled up to her collar. Her curls are spread out around her, a warm brown against the cream-colored pillow; her head rests on a towel, which cushions a bag of ice. Her skin is wan, and there are dark shadows under her eyes, but at least they’re open. Her eyes are hazy and pained, but they’re open.

She’s okay.

Phillip hits his knees at her side, so hard that the sound echoes through the trailer. Bolts of pain shoot up his thighs, but he can’t see them. Anne lets out a weak chuckle. “Easy. You’ll knock holes through the floor like that.”

“You almost did a good job of that yourself,” he replies. The amusement in her face flickers, but only for a moment. She smiles at him again, tired but genuine. 

“I’m okay,” she tells him. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay,” Phillip echoes. He brings one hand up to cup her cheek; she takes his other in her own, and gives it a weak squeeze. He can’t help bringing it to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss to her knuckles. “You scared me half to death, baby. I thought — I thought —“

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Phillip insists, and kisses her hand again. “You’re okay.”

Anne stirs, like she’s making an effort to sit up; the action backfires immediately. She winds up groaning, eyes squeezing shut in pain; when she slumps back against the pillow, Phillip feels another bolt of alarm strike abused nerves. “What hurts?”

“M’head,” Anne answers, and Phillip realizes for the first time that her words sound slurred. “Just a little dizzy’s all… I’ll be fine. Nothin’... to worry ‘bout.”

It won’t be, because Phillip is going to make sure she stays in bed until she’s made a full recovery. Anne won’t have to worry about moving or walking anywhere until her head’s sorted itself out. Until then, Phillip will be right by her side, ready to help her however she needs it. He’ll do anything for her; he’ll feed her, wash her, read to her, and sing her to sleep. He’ll dote on her until she’s begging him to stop… and he’ll enjoy every second of it, because he knows how close he came to losing her. Even in a few days, when she’s griping at him and threatening him with bodily harm if he doesn’t let her “right up outta this bed this instant”, Phillip won’t leave her. He’ll be by her side as long as she needs him.

For now, however, he senses Anne only needs one thing: sleep.

“Okay,” he sighs, gently easing the bedcovers aside. “Take it easy. No need to move. You’ve got to rest your head, sweetie, and then you’ll be okay.”

“I know that,” Anne mutters, eyes still closed.

Phillip quietly pushes himself to his feet. “Quick check: what’s your name, what day were you born, and where are you now?”

She moans. “This again?”

“Yes, this. W.D. already went over it with you?”

“Three times,” she grumbles, brow furrowing; but she obliged anyways. “My name’s Anne Marie Wheeler. I was born… August 24. And I better still be at the Barnum Circus, otherwise someone’s got some explaining to do.”

Phillip smiles to himself, seizing the opportunity to slide into bed next to her. She cracks her eyes open; she was so distracted that she hadn’t felt himself easing his way in until she suddenly found his body pressed against hers. A groggy smile cracks across her face. 

“Now this,” she mutters, curling into him. “This I like.”

He tucks an arm around her shoulders, careful not to disturb her head. The kiss he pressed to her collar is butterfly-light, as if he’s afraid she’ll break if he touches her too hard. Perhaps a part of him is. (He knows how strong Anne is — she’s the strongest woman he’s ever met — but the image of her falling out of the sky lurks in the back of his head, ready to surge forward and torment him on an endless loop. He cannot stand the thought of losing her.)

“Never scare me like that again,” he whispers.

She hums softly. “I’ll do my best.”

There are a thousand more things he wishes he could say. The words I love you dance on the tip of his tongue, too sudden and out of reach for this quiet moment. He feels it in every fiber of his being; his entire heart was screaming it as he cradled Anne’s limp body in his arms. Now is not the time, though, or the place. He knows it, and she does too, but he will not say it.

He presses all his love into his lips instead, and presses another soft kiss into her collar. She is here. She is alive. She is safe. (And he loves her.)

Phillip’s world continues to turn. That’s all the reassurance he needs to sink into a contented sleep at her side.


End file.
